The distinct flare of panic in his eyes when I spoke made me extremely satisfied as I turned to walk away.
Braeden lived up to his “Hulk” status during the game. That guy was a freaking beast on the field. It was quite the contrast to the guy I saw with my niece and sister. But it sure was hella fun to watch. He took down guys like nobody’s business, and by the end of the first quarter, one of the guys who jumped Trent was escorted off the field with a limp.
As the quarterback, Romeo wasn’t really in the position to tackle, but he still managed. He ran the ball a couple times and used his upper body as a battering ram when Conner or a few other guys got in his way.
Of course, we couldn’t make it look like we were targeting a few players rougher than the others, so we couldn’t take them out every play, and we had to actually play the game.
It was fun actually.
Watching Trent in his element was awesome. The only other time I saw that kind of passion in his eyes was when he talked business with Gamble. He played quarterback for the frat. It wasn’t his usual position, but he was the best choice. Plus, it was a little less “contact” for his ribs.
I had a feeling Romeo pretty much warned his Knights players to back off Trent, and of course, the Wolves already knew about his injury because they’d been training with him while it healed.
A couple times, T got sacked, but not hard enough to reinjure him. Still, each time he went down, my heart skipped a beat. Shit, I had no idea how Rim and Ivy dealt with this all the time.
Romeo seemed to realize how I was feeling, which made me wonder if I was being obvious. Before Trent took the field again, he was at my side. “Why don’t you play out there this round?”
I glanced at him. “Why?”
“You notice Con’s out there this go around?” He hitched his chin toward the field.
“What the fuck?” I muttered. “He wouldn’t take down someone on his own team. That would look shady.”
“Unless it was an accident,” Romeo said.
I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d already taken a bunch of cheap shots at Trent. “I’m going,” I said.
Romeo called in one of the other guys, and I jogged out to take his place.
Trent glanced at me momentarily, but his eyes didn’t linger.
The ball was snapped into Trent’s hands. He held it, looking for an open pass. When he found one, he threw the ball. Most players followed the ball, but my eyes stayed on T. I even let the player by I was supposed to be blocking.
It’s a good thing. I wasn’t the only one whose eyes stayed with him. Conner cut across the field toward Trent. He shoved one of the opposing players back, and it looked pretty legit.
I knew better.
I took off in a sprint toward my person and Conner. T’s eyes locked on me and widened. Then he saw Conner, and his expression changed.
I increased my speed and ran full on, full throttle right into Con. I ran like I drove.
Balls to the wall.
We slammed together and fell in a heap. Both of us laid there stunned for a minute and then I started to pull back. Conner grabbed the front of my jersey and pulled me back.
“What the fuck is your problem, fag?”
Like oil and water, I let the slur roll off my back. “I think you know,” I snarled.
I stood up and stepped back. Con leapt to his feet and lunged at me. Our arms locked together, and we started to struggle. He tried to kick me, but I twisted away.
Trent yelled and ran forward.
I ripped off my helmet and threw it on the turf. “Come on!” I challenged Con.
Con whipped off his helmet, too, and took a step. Frat members grabbed him by the waist and restrained him.
No one restrained me, but they all gathered at my back.
“All right!” Con yelled. “All right, I’m good.”
Everyone holding him let go.
“Play!” one of the Wolves yelled, and players started to fall into position.
I took one step, a single step away, and Con rushed me. I was expecting it, though. He was a little bitch and wanted to get in at least one hit. I plated my feet and swung around, using my momentum to propel my fist.
It caught him right in the face. He went down hard.
Blood covered his nose, and he lay there, dazed.
“You’re gonna pay for that you faggot,” he slurred.
I lunged at him again, but Trent appeared and wrapped one arm around my waist to restrain me. “Down, Forrester,” he whispered beside my ear.
I pulled back, but my muscles quivered with readiness.
I wanted to punch him again so bad.
Braeden appeared and picked up Con off the ground by the front of his shirt. “The fuck you just call my brother?” he asked, holding Con up so his feet dangled.
“I called him a dirty faggot,” Con spat.
Trent tensed, and I gave him a warning look.
Braeden glanced at the nearby ref. “You gonna eject this asshole, or should I make it so he can’t play no more?”
Con started to struggle, and B batted away his attempts.
“Ejected,” the ref called, “for use of derogatory comments. Unsportsmanlike conduct.”
The crowd cheered.
“What about him? He punched me!” Conner yelled.